


it's okay to say you've got a weak spot

by darklanguages



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mild D/s, Pre-Overwatch, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 14:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklanguages/pseuds/darklanguages
Summary: Hanzo has had a number of problems adjusting to being the new head of the Shimada clan.It turns out that Genji is one of them.





	it's okay to say you've got a weak spot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sciencefictioness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/gifts).



> for sci <3

“Hanzo.”

He turns his head, shooting a narrowed look at the man dressed in Shimada colors. The elders were insisting on everyone using proper titles now that Hanzo was the head of clan, but Matsuda had known him since he was an infant. Hanzo knows he should mind, but it was almost nice that someone at least didn’t care about his change in status.

This was not, however, the best time to ask Hanzo much of anything, however. The leather gloves he’d worn had done little to stop the blood soaking through, and his arms were splattered with red up to the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. Hopefully the stains could be removed as he quite likes this shirt, but Hanzo has his doubts. 

“What,” he finally says, when Matsuda doesn’t offer anything else.

“Shimada-sama,” - oh, so now the politeness comes out - “It is about Genji. I have had some people come to me -”

Hanzo has blood on his hands, what he is fairly sure is brain matter on his shoelaces, and a half-dozen dead assassins he still needs to take care of. His brother and his penchant for partying his life away could wait. “Is he in any danger of dying in the next forty eight hours?”

“No, but -” 

“Then it can wait.” Hanzo has the elders breathing down his neck, the now-obliterated Hirano clan to deal with, and a thousand other things that require his attention now that he is the clan head. Not the least of which is the production of a clan heir, or so the elders keep telling him. It’s not that Hanzo is against the idea of children, exactlygf, but he has zero desire to carry them himself. The elders were already up in arms about having an omega as a leader, and Hanzo’s resistance on the subject has been frustrating to them.

Hanzo could care less.

He also could care less about whatever Genji is doing (or so he lectures himself), out partying his way through whatever club he feels like, the Shimada name opening every door for him. Hanzo repeats in his head as he scrubs blood out of his cuticles that his annoyance is at Genji’s dismissal of their new security requirements. 

_If no one’s made a move by now, Hanzo, they won’t make one at all,_ he had said several days previous, laughing.

Hanzo had shaken his head. _We’re vulnerable now. We don’t have father to protect us as buffer against the other clans who would fear his retaliation if we were attacked._

Genji had let his robe fall to the floor, smirking as Hanzo turned away quickly. _So what, you want me in a gilded cage?_ he had said lightly. _Flitting around like a bird that some rich aristocrat keeps trapped in a garden?_ Thankfully there was the rustle of fabric being pulled on, but then there had been a warmth at Hanzo’s back and a hand sneaking its way around his chest, pulling him back. _Tell me, anija. Is it the elders that want me locked away, or do you just want me for yourself?_

Hanzo had stepped away to the sound of knowing laughter, catching just a glimpse of Genji in a tight shirt and tighter pants as he stepped into a pair of heavy combat boots on his way out the door. 

They had been brought up close, too close - bonded together by the cruelty of family. That closeness changed, mutated over the years as the ropes of filial duty pulled tight. Hanzo relaxed into it but Genji struggled, never happy with what was expected of them. Hanzo was there with him, so Hanzo was who he latched onto. They developed a - you would not call it a cat and mouse game, perhaps call it a cat and cat game, two predators circling each other but never willing to take the final leap into conflict. Conflict, or...something else far more forbidden.

There was something in Hanzo, buried even deeper than the feelings that he should not have for his brother, that made him wonder if it was truly him that Genji wanted, or if he was just what was available. It was that worm of a doubt that allowed him to let Genji go - if Genji’s needs were fulfilled and he still wanted Hanzo then -

Then what?

Hanzo blinks at an ache he realizes has been building, looks down to see that he’s scrubbed his fingers raw and bleeding. Like he needs any help getting more blood on his hands, he thinks bitterly. Rinsing it all off, he leaves behind Matsuda and whatever Genji nonsense he wanted to talk about.

He has bodies to take care of.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Hanzo tries to pay attention to Genji over the next few days, to see where his head is. He seems to be all right, but Hanzo suspects that it’s only surface deep. After Sojiro died it was like some thread snapped within Genji, some keystone that held everything together. He’s still functioning, still joking and messing around, still going to parties and getting his picture in the papers, but there’s something missing. 

It’s more than losing their father - neither Hanzo nor Genji had much love for Sojiro after the hell he had put them through over the years in the name of duty, of clan piety. That did not mean that he wasn’t important, however. Hanzo watches closer, hears the brittleness in Genji’s laugh, sees the sallowness of his skin and dark half-moons covered expertly by makeup. 

During morning training Hanzo throws Genji - not harder than usual, he doesn’t think, but it takes long seconds for him to get up, longer still to roll his shoulders into place and get back into fighting position. Hanzo straightens slowly from his crouch, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, painfully aware that it comes out as more of an order than a question. 

Genji tosses off an easy smile. “Well you did just throw me into the mat, Hanzo.”

Hanzo shakes his head as he walks over. “You shouldn’t have let me throw you in the first place, you’re better than that. You’re avoiding your right side -” When he reaches for Genji he dances back, almost awkwardly. Genji has never been ungainly in his life but just now? Usually if Hanzo made any movement towards undressing Genji he would be ecstatic, but at the moment he just looks...nervous. 

“I’m fine. Leave it alone.” His voice is steady. Too steady.

“If one of your...dalliances is hurting you, Genji -” Well. If that was the case Hanzo would have another body to dispose of.

A laugh, a real one this time. “Trust me, no one is doing anything to me that I don’t want them to.”

“That is not reassuring.”

“It is all you’re going to get,” Genji says, a thread of anger in his tone. He spins on his heel and walks away, back straight and walking normally enough - although stiff with annoyance - that Hanzo is reassured that he’s all right.

Physically, at least.

Hanzo watches him leave with a frown, before exiting the dojo at speed. He finds Matsuda in the armory, sharpening daggers. “What were you going to tell me the other day, about Genji?” he asks with no preamble.

There’s a final slow scrape on the sharpening stone before Matsuda looks up. He glances around the room, which is empty but for the two of them. He begins sharpening again, the sound of steel on damp stone a low, muffling drone - Hanzo is confident there are no listening devices here, but he appreciates Matsuda’s paranoia. 

“We have been keeping an eye on him as per your request, albeit at a distance. For a while he was going to his usual clubs and parties, inappropriate but not out of the ordinary. Then he started to frequent another club. One less...savory.”

A thousand worst-case scenarios flash through Hanzo’s mind, each worrying and more violent than the last. No one gets to be cruel to Genji ( _but you, but you_ , a small voice in the back of his head says). “Tell me,” he orders, voice cold.

To his surprise, Matsuda looks away. Were the man capable of blushing, he might be doing so. “It is...not appropriate, Shimada-san.”

Hanzo has seen Matsuda wrist-deep in a man’s intestines to pull a tracking device out, seen him with a growing pile of bloody-ended fingernails next to him: he wasn’t aware that the man even knew the concept of not being appropriate. Which meant that it likely didn’t involve violence, at least. That did leave, however, a whole spectrum of possibilities.

“Elaborate.”

Matsuda’s hands slow and thankfully stop, the scraping having become irritating some time ago. He reaches into a pocket and peels off one of the rolling papers used for the evil-smelling little cigarettes he always smokes. He writes an address down on the thin paper, hesitating for just a moment before handing it to Hanzo. “If word were to get out of what he was doing, especially as a Shimada…” 

Hanzo raises his eyebrows, but accepts the paper without a word. A glance at the address shows it’s unfamiliar, but in a less-than-respectable part of town. He folds the paper up, slipping it into a pocket. “Do not mention this to anyone, Matsuda.”

“Believe me, Shimada-sama, I will not.” It is said with a palpable sense of relief.

Hanzo walks out, fingers brushing against the edge of the paper in his pocket. It looks like he has plans for tomorrow night.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Although Genji does revel in his fashions and his beautifying routine, Hanzo knows that it has other purposes as well. If everyone is looking at your clothes, they aren’t looking at you. He takes a page from Genji’s book, - dressing in unfamiliar sleek black clothing, adding just enough eyeliner to change his eye shape, make him look a bit unlike himself. 

His hair is shorter now, and he smooths it down in a style that he would never normally wear. Finally he sprays himself all over with pheromone suppressors - it’s not that Hanzo could not defend himself, but he’d rather not be put in the position in the first place when some arrogant alpha smelled an unbonded omega. He wrinkles his nose at his own damped-down scent, but it’s a preventative measure he takes whenever he has to be someone other than clan head Hanzo Shimada.

He hates that about himself, more than a bit. 

One more thing to add to the list that grows longer seemingly by the day.

Slipping through the streets of Hanamura, Hanzo makes his way to the seedier part of town that is worryingly close to Shimada Castle. The address is a club, unsurprisingly, tucked into the corner of a dilapidated building. He shows his false identification, pays an exorbitant cover charge, and makes his way down into the darkness. 

There are moans and grunts, the sound of skin on skin and the slap of leather. Hanzo isn’t surprised to find his brother would be interested in a place like this - a thousand times that Genji has held him down over the years and grinned flash through his mind, and an unwanted curl of heat moves through him. He moves to the bar, gets a glass of sake. Positions himself so he can see the club and its occupants that are tied down and ecstatically beaten.

After a good ten minutes of scanning, he can’t see Genji. Matsuda had assured him that Genji had left and gone in this direction some time ago, so he should be here. Somewhere. His eyes move from person to person as they slink around in leather and latex, moving from one strapped down body to the next. 

Hanzo’s head turns - there was a...noise of some kind. Something he knows, somewhere deeper than his ears. He looks carefully around with a glower, before his gaze catches on something. A familiar curve of back, a neck that twists just so -

He blinks, because that familiarity is strapped down, lightly tanned skin against deep burgundy leather. It’s only glimpses at first - there’s a faceless man in a bondage hood pounding in like a metronome. Long minutes later he slows to a stop, pulling out roughly. Hanzo watches as the shiny pink hole - but not shiny with natural slick, those are the full balls of an alpha hanging below - contracts slowly, too used and puffy to close up fully.

Hanzo can’t see his face, but he knows. 

It’s Genji. His Genji

On his feet without quite remembering how he got there, Hanzo slips his way through the crowd. Kinesthetic awareness hammered into him by a lifetime of training lets him not touch anyone, and he is absently thankful for using the suppressant spray because the heavy, heated scent of alpha hangs all around him. He must be reacting on some level, though, because a few heads confusedly turn at his passing.

He stops some feet away, unable to make himself move closer. A woman in what Hanzo recognizes as the uniform for the dungeon monitors takes a step towards him. “Lovely, isn’t he?” she says quietly. “We’ve never had an alpha willing to do this before. He’s very popular.”

Hanzo just bets he is.

This is what Matsuda had meant. For an alpha of the Shimada clan to submit like this, to be _used_ like this…

It’s beyond inappropriate. It’s _unthinkably_ taboo. Just when Hanzo thought Genji couldn’t surprise him any more after decades of pushing boundaries, he pulls something like this. 

Another man steps up - old, wrinkled, far too much like their father. No one that Genji would ever touch given the choice, but Genji is trapped and blindfolded and doesn’t know any better. The moan that comes from Genji’s lips when the man pushes in makes Hanzo’s fingers clench in his pockets, the faint sound of threads popping a background to the thundering of his heart in his ears.

He can’t look away as he watches Genji’s cock thicken, pointing straight at the ground where it’s trapped at the edge of the bench. Genji winces minutely as the man behind him thrusts forward, cock crushed against the unforgiving wood. It doesn’t stop him from dribbling out precome though, thin trails of liquid sliding down the lacquered surface.

Another man takes the place of the old man, then a woman in a harness, then another man. Another, another. Hanzo has been here for too long watching - far too long, inappropriately too long - and there are now a few others now standing around him. Touching themselves. Looking. 

They don’t... _deserve_ to watch. To see Genji tied down for someone, anyone ( _but you, but you_ , that traitorous voice cries out in the back of his mind once more). To see a Shimada brought to his knees and beyond, even if they don’t know who he is.

The man currently fucking in and out seems kinder than the previous people, appearing to care about how Genji is doing. As he thrusts he reaches down, wrapping a hand around Genji’s now painfully red cock. Genji starts, the cuffs rattling as he jerks in unexpected pleasure. Hanzo wants to move - should move, _needs_ to move, needs to not look at his brother being treated like this - but he can’t. 

He stays just long enough to see Genji tug against the straps as his cock starts to spurt - just long enough to see that he doesn’t knot, because Hanzo doesn’t know who he would kill if that happened. Hanzo turns stiffly and leaves, thankful for dark clothing to hide how he’s straining against the front of his pants.

Hanzo’s hand is on the door to the stairs when he stops. He stays there, deep in thought, for long enough that he has to move aside for someone to go past him. Pulling out his wallet, he checks to make sure he has a credit card under a false name.

Walking back in with purpose, he zeroes in on a man dressed in a more elaborate version of the dungeon monitors’ uniform.

“Hello,” Hanzo says, with a false smoldering look that’s still enough to make the no doubt jaded man in front of him catch his breath. “I have a...partner who comes here, and I wanted to arrange a surprise for him. Would you be able to assist me?”

The man nods, asks what Hanzo wants. 

Hanzo smiles.

-x-x-x-x-x-

The next day he clears his schedule the best he can, fending off the elders. He showers thoroughly, luxuriously, taking his time. He dresses carefully - black again, but soft fabrics. Expensive, smooth to the touch. Hanzo slips out under cover of darkness, a call to the club having been placed several hours before to make sure everything was on track.

Hanzo makes his way in, threading his way towards the back of the club. The manager he had spoken to the night before is there, watching over things. 

“Everything all right?” Hanzo murmurs.

The man nods. “No one has fucked him, no one has let him come. Fingers only, for several hours now.”

Hanzo watches as someone makes their way over, only to be pulled aside by the manager. The woman nods, before stepping over to where Genji is tied down over a spanking bench. She wets her hand from the bottle of lubricant conveniently placed next to him. Slim fingers slip in and out, and Genji twists himself around the best he can while in four point restraints, trying to push himself back. He’s making aggrieved noises - which are all he can make, because of the gag in his mouth. 

Long minutes pass before the woman stands, looking pleased at his unfulfillment. Hanzo smiles just a bit as well, before leaning over to the manager. “If he could be taken to the room, please.” The manager nods, and Hanzo goes over to the bar to get a drink.

Into his second sake, the manager comes by, stopping a respectful distance away from his shoulder. He might not be a Shimada here, but enough cash and the appropriate dismissive persona can get Hanzo roughly the same deference. He leads Hanzo into the back, where the various play rooms are. The one he told Hanzo he had selected is ostensibly plain - set up like a hotel room - but very high quality, very ‘appropriate to someone of his station’ as it was put. The manager has no idea who he’s dealing with, but Hanzo’s money talks loudly.

He shows Hanzo to the door, bows, and leaves, murmuring about soundproofed walls on the way out. Hanzo takes a deep breath before opening the door. 

The lights are dimmed down to almost nothing, but there’s a soft light shining down onto the bed. Genji is there, nude and stretched out on his stomach, arms and legs still cuffed but now attached to straps running under the bed. The blindfold is still on, but the gag is gone, which is apparent as Genji starts talking.

“So I am assuming I have you to thank for tonight’s treatment. Good job on making it incredibly frustrating, by the way. I nearly rubbed off on the bed but I figured I would wait to see what you had planned.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. Typical of his brother, running his mouth. And as much as he’s bitching, Hanzo had made sure that Genji, while not being given too many details, would consent to this. Deep down he’s angry, almost furious that Genji would willingly give himself over to a stranger for the night. He wonders if he’s done this before, with anyone else. It’s that, perhaps more than Genji’s ramblings that has him going over to the dresser.

There’s a veritable buffet laid out for him, oiled leather and shining steel, all of the highest quality. His hand pauses over a beautifully made belt, but moves on. Some things are just a little too close to home, to bad memories. Instead he picks up a short whip. Wooden handle, tightly braided thong at the end - he’s surprised they supplied it, as whips in inexperienced hands could lead to disaster.

Hanzo is anything but inexperienced, though.

He uncoils it, steps back a bit. A few rotations to loosen his wrist and feel out the range, and then he lets it extend with a sharp whistle and crack. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Genji still. 

“You, uh. Have seen my sheet, yes? The limits that are listed?”

Hanzo hasn’t, in fact. It doesn’t matter, though. He knows Genji. Knows what Genji will let him do to him.

(Anything?)

(Everything.)

He sets the whip back down, it was only to see how it felt. He bypasses a variety of crops and lashes, raising his eyebrows at a jiǔjiébiān, a chain whip that he is actually quite familiar with from using it as a foil during sword practice with Genji. It’s nothing he would use on another person without intending to kill them, however.

Grabbing a narrow paddle with holes that whistle pleasantly through the air, he makes his way over to the bed. He climbs on gracefully, settling himself in seiza between Genji’s spread legs. Resting the paddle across his lap, he reaches back to grip Genji’s ankles. Thin, delicate bone, Hanzo is pleased at how his hands can easily wrap all the way around. He runs his hands deliberately up Genji’s legs, feeling out the muscle under smooth skin. 

Genji tenses as Hanzo’s hands move slowly up his thighs, tendons shifting under Hanzo’s palms. When he reaches the crease where ass meets thigh he pauses just long enough for Genji to impatiently shift, then keeps his hands moving up. He doesn’t treat Genji’s ass any different than his legs, hands just feeling out the skin underneath.

“Come on, now,” Genji says. “I -”

Hanzo snatches the paddle up and brings it down hard on Genji’s left asscheek. His skin pinks up beautifully, and Hanzo soothes the bite of the leather with a gentle hand. Genji had cried out, but it wasn’t a sound of distress. Hanzo keeps touching, running his hands over all the skin that these strangers have laid claim to, replacing it with the feel of his own callouses, his own touch, his own scent. 

His. 

“Are you -” another crack of hardened leather on skin, Hanzo carefully rubbing away the sting. Genji tries to talk a few more times, and Hanzo keeps hitting. He might worry he was trying to say something important, but Genji’s cock is half trapped under his thigh, and Hanzo can see how much he’s leaking.

The next time he speaks, Genji keeps going through the hit. “Who are you?” he says, voice shaking with effort. Hanzo gets up instead of answering, looks at Genji displayed before him. Ass and thighs flushed in a way that says they’ll stay that way for a while with darker marks underneath slowly rising to the surface, hands twisting mindlessly in their restraints.

Beautiful.

Hanzo goes back to the dresser, sets the paddle down. Picks up a riding crop that has a satisfying reach, and tucks it into his belt. He kneels at the bottom edge of the bed, unclips the ankle cuffs. Uses the crop to nudge at Genji until he’s turned over as much as he can. Hanzo moves to the head of the bed, careful, cautious. Not because he thinks Genji will move, he thinks as he unbuckles one hand, but -

Genji flips over as his other hand is unbuckled, and he pauses for just a second before he lays his hands in the proper positions, sniffing the air. Hanzo can see him frown under the blindfold. He hadn’t used suppressants at all because - well, he just couldn’t, not with Genji. It ran this risk, though. 

Hanzo clips him back in quickly, face up and on display. Not fast enough, though, because Genji sniffs again, and says, “You smell -”

The folded leather end of the crop snaps against his bicep, and Genji starts. Precome beads at the tip of his cock, so Hanzo really doesn’t feel that bad about it. “Stop that,” Genji says. “You smell -” Another hit, to his inner thigh for the insubordination. Hanzo is bored with this, though. He has things to do. 

Moving up, he threads a hand through Genji’s sweat damp hair, pulls it back to bare his throat. Hanzo is turned on and sweating himself, pheromones in overdrive from who is laid out in front of him, and Genji’s nostrils flare. “Tell me what I smell like,” Hanzo says, voice a low purr. Something soft and carmelized, breathed into Genji’s ear.

Genji’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. 

“What, nothing to say? A rarity for you.” Hanzo moves a hand downwards, fingers counting over Genji’s ribs. More prominent now, as are his cheekbones, the line of his jaw. He frowns - he needs to make sure Genji’s eating enough, even as a child he tended to eat less when he was stressed.

His other hand loosens, carding through thick hair. Soothing, with the edge of a threat. “Talk to me, Genji. Tell me why you’re doing this.”

Genji licks his lips, slick pink tongue darting out. Hanzo lets his eyes linger - Genji’s still blindfolded and he trampled on the last of his reservations about all of this when he stayed to watch the night before. He shakes his head, focusing on Genji as he clears his throat.

“I needed to be someone no one cared about,” he says in a low voice. “I needed to not be a Shimada.” Something deep in Hanzo fractures.

“Genji, I -”

“It’s not you, it’s never you,” he says, interrupting. “It’s...them. Telling me who to be, what to do. Who to fuck - they want me to marry and get some poor soul pregnant as fast as possible. I know you don’t care about what I do, but...damn it Hanzo, it’s _my_ life, for whatever that is worth. And every moment I am in the castle is spent being forced into smaller and smaller boxes.”

Hanzo rests his forehead on Genji’s too-sharp collarbone, breathing into his skin. He doesn’t know how to help, because he is getting it just as bad from the rest of the clan, albeit in different facets. They’re trapped. But perhaps, if they’re trapped together -

“Tell me what I can do.”

Genji bends his head down, noses blindly through Hanzo’s hair. “Pain helps, with strangers but - but I - you. Just...be with me.” There’s something needy, longing in his voice. Hanzo can’t help but turn his head and kiss along Genji’s neck. He can feel the breath catch under his lips, and he pulls back to watch Genji curve his head around, searching for Hanzo. 

“Brother - please…” Hanzo takes pity, wraps a hand around Genji’s face. Thumbs his cheekbone, rough sword-callouses against sensitive skin. The noise that comes out of his mouth and spills into Hanzo’s when he finally meets Genji’s lips is devastating, like somehow this is the answer to his unspoken prayers.

Hanzo spends long minutes just exploring, learning how Genji kisses. Feeling out the edge of the tooth he chipped when he was eleven and refused to get fixed because of his fear of the dentist. Running his tongue along the scar where he had a short-lived labret piercing. Tasting, tasting the mouth that shouldn’t be kissing anyone but Hanzo for now on.

Although he’d barely been willing to admit it to himself, he’d been afraid of this somehow. That once he had Genji he wouldn’t want anything else. It’s hard to care, though, with Genji’s eager mouth devouring his own, the room silent but for the sound of spit-slick flesh and the soft, urgent noises that Genji keeps making every time Hanzo retreats even the smallest amount.

Hanzo needs more, so his hand trails down, down, between Genji’s legs. He’s still wet, almost omega-soft and open from the hours of fingering he’d been put through. The noises against Hanzo’s mouth now have a shape to them, Genji murmuring _please, please, you instead of them, please anija_ every time Hanzo pulls back to draw breath.

He never was someone that could deny Genji anything. 

Fumbling at the table next to the bed, Hanzo blindly grabs a condom. Genji twists his head away at the sound of plastic crinkling, breaking their kiss. “No,” he says, voice unsteady. “Everyone else has but - not you. Please.” Hanzo nods, his forehead resting against Genji’s. He doesn’t want to pull away but he needs to see, so with a final kiss Hanzo slides off the bed, shedding his shirt and pants so he’s as naked as Genji. He then settles back on his heels, knelt between Genji’s legs.

Pushing his thighs as far apart as they can go in their restraints, he spreads Genji open for him. Hanzo doesn’t need to feel him again but he can’t help himself, fingers sliding into him so easily, so smoothly. He’s never fucked anyone before like this, but it feels - right. He needs to replace those strangers, turn Genji back into something belonging to Hanzo. He slides his thighs under Genji’s, hitching him up. Taking his cock in hand he plays at his entrance, pushing in just a bit just to pull out again and rub the wet head around the wrinkled, swollen skin.

Hanzo reaches a hand behind himself, pulls out fingers glossy with his own slick to rub up and down his cock. He’s dripping down the back of his thighs, filthy and sloppy with his want for Genji. That will have to wait though, because now he’s pushing into tight, soft flesh. He goes slowly, wanting to draw out the experience. Is this what it feels like, Hanzo dazedly wonders, when alphas fuck? He can see the appeal.

When he’s in as far as he can go, Hanzo falls onto his forearms, bracing himself above Genji. “Don’t come,” he murmurs into his lips as he starts to thrust. Genji seems about to say something, but it turns quickly into a moan. Even restrained as Genji is with no leverage, they move almost frighteningly well together, like their bodies’ ultimate purpose were to be joined together like this. 

Hanzo falls fast, so fast, and it’s only minutes later that he’s digging his fingers hard into Genji’s ass and pulsing deep inside of him. It’s white heat sparking up his spine and static in his brain, pleasure intense enough that it’s almost hard to remember what it felt like afterwards. Pushing himself up on his arms, he watches intently as he pulls out, watching himself leak out of Genji. He uses his fingers to push as much back inside as he can, Genji making quiet whining sounds as he does.

“Anija -”

“Anija what, Genji?” He murmurs it into his neck, biting gently.

“Please…” Hanzo doesn’t bother answering this time, just keeps nibbling marks into Genji’s skin.

“Please, Hanzo.” A tongue swipes along dry lips. “Please let me come.”

Teeth tug at an earlobe, and Genji gasps. “You think you deserve it?”

“Hanzo -” 

“You’ve been out getting fucked by half of Hanamura when you should be home with me, and you think you get to come?”

“I -” He’s cut off by a sharp, open handed slap to the meat of his flank. Hanzo can feel Genji’s cock twitch where it’s pressed against his own stomach.

“Who are you?” Hanzo hums into Genji’s neck, damp with salty sweat.

“I’m - fuck, Hanzo. I’m Genji.”

Another slap, harder. “Not good enough - who are you?”

Genji moans as light fingers dance over his cock, over the swelling at the base. “I’m a Shi- _oh god_ \- a Shimada.”

Hanzo swings a leg over Genji, rubs his quickly recovering hardness against Genji’s red, almost inflamed cock.

“Mmm. Nothing else?” He’s holding Genji now in tight fingers, rubbing his head so carefully against Hanzo’s swollen, slicked entrance but not letting him in.

“I’m _yours,_ ” he sobs out, dampness visibly soaking through the blindfold. Hanzo makes a satisfied noise low in his throat and lowers his hips. Genji sinks into him, making a place for himself in Hanzo’s body like he belongs there, like he’s always belonged there. Hanzo pulls up then pushes back down slowly, starting up a slow, sensuous rhythm that’s almost terrifyingly natural. Like this is how they should always be together, like they shouldn’t do anything else. 

Hanzo leans down to kiss Genji, but his lips are slack, making only the most cursory of motions. Worried a bit, he pushes the blindfold back, up onto his forehead. Genji’s eyes are closed, his lashes dark and spiked with wetness. 

“Open your eyes for me, sweetness,” Hanzo whispers, and after a long worrisome moment Genji does so. They’re hazy, shiny with unshed tears and dark with blown-wide pupils. It takes a minute for him to focus on Hanzo, but he smiles, beatific, when he finally does so. “Good boy,” Hanzo says, and Genji reaches up, mouth searching for a kiss. 

They stay like that for a while, trading gentle kisses in between Hanzo’s quiet murmurs of praise and the slow rhythm of their hips. Eventually, though, Hanzo pulls back. “Genji,” he says, and then “Genji,” again. 

“Mmmm?”

“You can come now.”

“I…” Genji has to visibly gather himself together in order to produce coherent words. “If I do, I’ll knot you. Can’t...can’t help it.”

“It’s all right. You can.”

Genji’s eyes open wide, before rolling back in his head as Hanzo begins to thrust down with purpose. His thighs are burning but it’s worth it to hear the pre-verbal grunts and groans from his brother’s throat. It’s getting harder and harder to pull back up as Genji starts to swell, and with an unintelligible cry he suddenly knots, cock filling rapidly inside of Hanzo.

It’s good, so very good. Hanzo feels so full, so complete, and as he feels Genji start to pump him full he can’t help but rotate his hips in pleasure to settle himself down. His cock twitches and white streaks mark Genji’s chest, but Hanzo’s orgasm is almost an afterthought. Whatever he’s feeling is nothing in comparison to what Genji seems to be going through, Genji who is staring up at Hanzo like he’s just seen God. Hanzo needs to be able to touch and have him touch back, so he leans back, stomach muscles screaming, to unclip the ankle cuffs. Less than a minute later Genji’s limbs are all free.

He wraps himself, limp with exhaustion and pleasure, around Hanzo. Hanzo pulls them over onto their sides to make it easier on their bodies, and is rewarded with Genji tightening his arms enough that it’s hard to breathe.

“Easy, easy,” Hanzo murmurs into Genji’s hair, stroking down his sweat soaked back. Genji only responds by nuzzling harder into Hanzo’s throat, breathing his scent in deeply. Hanzo drifts off a few minutes later, knowing that it’ll be a while before they can separate.

Some time later Hanzo wakes, wincing slightly as Genji pulls out of him. He doesn’t know how long has passed, but the steady dripping out of him and the slight distension of his stomach says it was quite some time. Reaching behind him, Hanzo grabs a water bottle that he’d seen earlier on the nightstand. Teasing Genji’s mouth open with a finger, he holds the bottle in one hand and Genji’s head in the other, giving him water sip by sip. 

When most of the bottle is gone, Genji pushes it away with a shaky hand, opening eyes that are more coherent, able to focus on Hanzo.

“Welcome back.”

“Mmm.” A kiss is pressed to the sensitive place under Hanzo’s jaw. “Thank you.”

Hanzo pulls back, takes Genji’s chin in a firm hand. “You’re not going to come here again.” At the lowering of Genji’s brows, he continues: “Whatever you need, you come to me now.”

Genji smiles, crooked and playful and so much like the Genji he hasn’t seen in months that Hanzo’s chest hurts. “Maybe I need a lot.”

A long, slow kiss. “That’s fine.”

“Hanzo.” Genji sits up, wincing a bit. Hanzo can’t stop the wave of satisfaction from rippling through him. “I’m - god, you know that this is what I’ve wanted for,” he gives a short, embarrassed laugh, “for far too long, but...how. How can we do this?”

Settling on his back, Hanzo tucks one arm behind his head as the other strokes up and down Genji’s back. “I can’t do this without you,” he says finally. “The elders are...they’re relentless. But if we can lean on each other, then perhaps we can shape the clan into what _we_ want it to be, not them.” There’s a crack inside Hanzo, and he wrenches it apart a little further. “I need you. To be someone I can trust, someone I can lean on.”

Genji knows what it’s costing Hanzo to admit this, to actually say he needs help. “Perhaps we can make it through this. Together,” he says as he lays down, a comforting hand wrapping around Hanzo’s ribs. Hanzo’s eyes catch on the red and purple marks surrounding Genji’s wrists, bruises put there by his straining against his cuffs. Hanzo takes Genji’s hand, presses a kiss to the thin, marked skin covering the veins and tendons of his inner wrist.

Hanzo wraps his arms around Genji, who settles into the embrace with a sigh. As taboo as it had been for Genji to offer himself up to strangers, this - sleeping with his own brother - is far, far worse. But to feel safe, to know that Genji is safe…

It’s worth it.

In the morning they’ll have to leave the room, to be Shimadas again. That’s the morning, though. A problem for later, a problem for Hanzo the clan leader.

For now, he’s just Hanzo. Genji’s Hanzo. 

That’s enough. 


End file.
